Impasse
by Cadiliniel
Summary: Denethor finds himself increasingly jealous of Captain Thorongil and is finding no help in the attitude of his own father.


_Impasse_

Denethor stared across the table. His nervous hands played with the crust in his hand, but he paid no heed to the crumbs that fell everywhere. He couldn't understand why his father let _him_ eat with them. Their home was meant for family and close friends, was it not? Then why allow Thorongil, a mere soldier, to join them for meals almost everyday? Denethor watched Thorongil and his father share a story, and watched with barely concealed resentment as they laughed together. He put his bread down on the plate in front of him, and took a large gulp of the dark red wine in his goblet. They were still laughing. Denethor squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he heard his father's booming voice.

"Denethor! Have you heard this tale?" Ecthelion laughed some more, almost choking on his food. "Have you?"

"I doubt I have, father…"

"Oh, you should hear it! While Thorongil here was with the troops earlier this afternoon there was one particularly weedy young thing…" His father's voice continued on, but Denethor was not listening. He looked at his father, who instead of looking back at him, was looking at Thorongil. His eyes held a pride that should only be reserved for a son.

Denethor stirred from uneasy sleep. He sat up in his bed, and rubbed his eyes, one twitching annoyingly. He poured himself some water from a jug at his bedside. He looked back to the bed and saw Finduilas laying there. Usually she would wake with him, but as she moved futher and futher into her pregnancy, so she slept later and later. Denethor smiled at the thought of their child. He hoped for a son, but if he should have a girl it would not worry him, as she would no doubt be as beautiful as Finduilas. Just as he began taking a sip of his water, a loud knock came at his door. He rolled his eyes skyward and barked irritably, "Yes?!" A small errand boy popped his head around the door, after first struggling to open the large wooden entry.

"Captain Thorongil needs to see you, my Lord. He's in the refectory."

"Thank you." Denethor replied curtly. The boy left quickly enough. He turned back and saw Finduilas stirring from her sleep. "Typical!" he thought. Now she will be awake when she should be resting. She sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"What time is it?" she asked her irritated husband.

"It is still early my love." Denethor began dressing hurriedly in his annoyance.

"What's wrong?" asked his wife, who knew him too well and was too worried about him to let him go without getting to the bottom of things.

"It is nothing…Thorongil wishes to see me."

"And is that so bad?" Finduilas was slightly amused at her husband's incessant annoyance at the young captain.

"Well, what does that soldier want with me? I don't mind talking to him when I have to, but to be called from my chamber to meet with him? Thorongil this and Thorongil that, all I hear! I do not wish to talk with the damn man."

"Denethor, do not be so angry with him. He is only doing his duty, no doubt." Denethor pulled his cloak about his shoulders and sighed.  
3"Aye, I'm sure you are right, as usual!" Denethor went to his wife and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Make sure you do not over-do things today. You know you need to rest."  
"Denethor, really! What do I have to do with myself that I can over do?!" They both laughed and Denethor kissed her again.

"Hopefully I will not be away long today. I shall see you this afternoon perhaps." He stood. Despite his wife's gentle words, he still left in a bad mood.

Thorongil tapped his foot against the stone floor of the refectory. Denethor was not late, but Thorongil had much to do that day. He looked up as the doors opened, bringing in a slight breeze, and saw that Denethor was on his way. He stood from his seat and motioned that the man next to him should do the same. Denethor's boots made an awkward noise as he walked heavily towards Thorongil. Thorongil spoke first, in his usual calm tone. "Good morning, my Lord."

"Good morning, Captain, but I'm not so sure it is. You wanted to see me?" Thorongil had expected such a response and had learnt to ignore Denethor's cold tone.

"Yes, my Lord. You remember Arlon?" Thorongil indicated the man stood next to him. Denethor looked bemused at the man.

"No, not really. Should I?"

"Well, I should think so, you handed him quite a servere punishment but two days ago." Denethor looked again at the man. His eyes lit up as he finally recognised him.

"Ah, yes, of course! This is the soldier who had been drunk whilst on duty, threatened another man…a civilian! and then when men were sent to arrest him, he was asleep!" The scorn was clear in Denethor's voice. He had never been tolerant of drunkeness. He became intoxicated himself only rarely, and only then in the privacy of his own personal chamber.

"Yes, this is him. He tells me you have suspended him from duty for two weeks!"

"Yes, I have…"

"But it is my place to punish my own men. You should not have…" Thorongil was cut off before he could even think about his next words.

"I should not have what, sir? As Captain of the White Tower, I believe I have every right to punish men that I see in need of a lesson, or have I perhaps misunderstood my place in this city?"

"I meant not that it was not your place. But they are my men and surely for the good of the division I should be seen as the one who punishes them? I cannot have my men lose the faith in me that I have worked so hard to gain."

"Lose faith in _you_, Captain Thorongil? Oh, I do not see that happening somehow!" The bitterness was rife in Denethor's words. "The man was drunk whilst on duty! That is not something to be passed up lightly."

"But two weeks, my Lord? That is a long time for a soldier to be away from his work and training. Surely a few days would have been enough punishment?"

"A few days? A few days punishment for not only being drunk, but threatening other men of the City? And then to be asleep when we found him? No, I do not think that a few days would have been enough!"

"Then I shall have to speak with your father to have his punishment reduced. I do not think that it is fitting, and my men shall not be happy." There was an awkward pause between the two men. Poor Arlon stood next to Thorongil, so desperately wanting to escape, deeply regretting having ever caused such an argument. Denethor smiled and exsasperated smile, and let out a small chuckle. Thorongil did not think the heir to the Stewardship would be pleased.

"You would do such a thing over one man?"

"Yes I would, as it effects my relationship with all me men, not just Arlon."

"I see. Well, then. Good day to you, Captain Thorongil." With that, Denethor turned from the men and made for the door, his boots echoing even louder around the room. The doors slammed as he left. Thorongil turned to Arlon, annoyed.

"I said that this would happen, did I not?" Arlon hung his head in shame.

"I have said I am sorry, Captain, let me be punished as Lord Denethor wishes…"

"No. I will see his father and all will be well. Ecthelion will listen to me."

Denethor's hand sliced cleanly through the water in a fountain on the Citadel. He ran the hand slowly through greying hair and breathed deeply. He gripped the stone edge of the fountain to steady himself in his rage. How dare Thorongil go over his head to his father like this! The anger he felt was all toward Thorongil, but a subdued part of him knew that it was not Thorongil that brought about this temper. No, it was his own suspicion that should Thorongil go to his father, he would be well supported in his endeavour. He turned from the fountain and grudgingly returned to his work.

Ecthelion, 25th Ruling Steward of Gondor, was stood with some of his highest ranking men. A guard knocked on the door to the room where they stood and entered. He bowed to Ecthelion before he spoke. "My Lord Ecthelion, Captain Thorongil would like to speak with you," the guard looked at the other men in the room, "uh…in private? He says it is important."

"Ah, well! Send him in!" The guard bowed his head and left the room. "My apologies gentlemen, but it seems that this is important! We shall continue our conversation later. Farewell!" The men exchanged knowing looks, collected their things and left. Ecthelion took a seat by the table and awaited the arrival of Thorongil. Soon enough, Thorongil came through the door and he too bowed to the Steward. Ecthelion stood and took Thorongil's hand warmly. "Captain Thorongil! It has been a while since I have seen you last! Come sit down." The two men walked to the table and sat. "So, what news have you for me that is so important? Something good I hope!"

"Unfortuneately," Thorongil began, keeping his voice as serious as he could on such a delicate matter, "I have come to beg assistance."

"Of course! How could I deny aid to Gondor's finest soldier?" Thorongil sighed.

"It is not so simple. I need the punishment of one of my men reduced. Punishment given by the Lord Denethor." There was a slight pause.

"I see…"

"He was given a suspension of two weeks, I believe this to be too harsh. Not only this, but I believe it should be I who punishes my own men, not Lord Denethor." There was another pause. Thorongil wished for an answer, affirmative or no, just so that he could leave such an awkward situation.

"Thank you, Thorongil. I will speak with my son this evening some time, and let you know." Thorongil stood, bowed and left the room. Ecthelion remained seated, rapping his fingers on the table.

Dusk fell on the city as Denethor pushed open the door to his home. The day had been long, not only from the tedious task of putting his father's papers in order but from the bad way it had begun. His heart was gladdened somewhat at the thought of coming home to Finduilas, at least. As he entered the room his wife stood and walked to him. She held round his neck and kissed his cheek, struggling somewhat to reach on the tips of her toes, her balance slightly off-key now her frame was larger than she was used to. Though she greeted her husband in such a way most days, Denethor was taken aback after a hard day of being seemingly much un-loved. "What have I done to deserve that, my love?"

"Walked through the door." She gave him a mischeivious grin. "Come, the servants have prepared us a meal in the main dining hall." He gave a small, involuntary whimper.

"Must we dine there? I have had enough trouble there today as it is."

"Bad day?"

"Yes, of sorts."

"Well, then you can tell me about it over dinner. In the Dining Hall." Denethor gave a short laugh as they walked back through the door. He had neither the desire nor the energy to argue with his wife.

The servants had prepared quite a meal that night, and Denethor was making the most of it, having realised he'd eaten very little all day. Finduilas turned to him between bites. "Are you going to tell me why your day was so bad then?" Denethor seemed to just sigh and continue eating a while. Finduilas poked him.

"It's nothing," he said, a half smile having appeared on his face.

"It doesn't seem like nothing to me, Denethor." Denethor looked up at his wife. However despite the concern that was in her eyes for him, it didn't stop his own eyes wondering beyond over her shoulder. "What is it?" The smile faded from his face.

"You will find out now, no doubt, my sweet." Finduilas was confused for a moment, but as she heard approaching footsteps she turned around.

"Ecthelion!" she said, trying her best to hide her surprise. "Good evening." She smiled, but he did not smile back.

"Good evening, Finduilas." Denethor stood.

"Father." He tried his best not to sound as though he knew what was coming.

"Denethor, may I have a word with you, alone?"

"Now, father? Finduilas and I have just sat to eat…"

"Yes. Now, please, son." Denethor paused a moment, in an attempt to stop himself from groaning quite loudly. He had precious little time with Finduilas as it was.

"Very well." Ecthelion turned and walked out of the room. Denethor rubbed his brow once his father's back was turned. He walked to Finduilas, his hand lightly on her shoulder. "I will try and be back, my love. But I would not suggest that you wait for me." He sighed, and went after his father.

Ecthelion's private study was a little down the corridor from the dining hall. Denethor self-conciously straightened his tunic before he entered the room. He closed the heavy wooden door quietly behind him. "Father?"

Ecthelion was half sitting, half leaning on his desk. He did not wish to appear too confrontational to his overly sensitive son.

"Thorongil came to see me this morning. He had a complaint to make." Ecthelion looked at his son. He could tell that he knew of what he spoke. "A complaint about you, Denethor."

"Well, if I may voice my opinion, I do think that it is an unfair complaint, father."

"Your punishment was too harsh, son. And you should let Thorongil discipline his own men. I have decided that I will be reducing Arlon's punishment to three days."

"Three _days_? Father, he has already served two…"

"I know, but I'm sure he's learnt his lesson from this fiasco."

Denethor could not help himself. "Fiasco? There would not be such a fiasco if Thorongil had not complained."

Ecthelion rolled his eyes. "Denethor, do not be so childish. He had every right to complain."

"As I had every right to punish a delinquent soldier?"

"I do not deny you had the right to do so, Denethor," his father said, in a half-hearted attempt at appeasement, "but you must consider the bigger picture. Thorongil cannot have his soldiers lose trust in him."

"Why would they lose their trust in him when it seems that Thorongil can do no wrong?" Ecthelion could not understand what it was Denethor held so against Thorongil. He knew that he did not like him, but he rarely spoke of it.

"Perhaps he does no wrong because he thinks of what he is saying before he speaks!" There was an awkward pause. Denethor has seen that this would turn into an argument. He hated arguing with his father, because he knew it would always end horribly. Neither men were loud when arguing, but that made it worse. Denethor would rather his father shout at him than be so quietly seething with dislike.

Finduilas put down her knife. She had eaten as slowly as she could, in the hope that her husband would return. He had not. She sighed and motioned for the servants to start clearing the table. A young maid came and saw much food untouched. "Was Lord Denethor not happy with the meal, my Lady?"

"Oh, no he was happy with it. He was called away, is all. Thank you." The maid bowed and left, taking the plates with her. Finduilas struggled up from her chair, almost knocking the heavy wooden piece over as she stood. She steadied herself with a giggle and turned to leave the room. She walked down the corridor slightly, and guessed that Denethor and Ecthelion were there. She stood outside, trying her best to listen. She could here muffled voices, but could barely make out the words. That was the trouble with these two arguing was that she could never eavesdrop. She moved closer to the door to see if she could hear any better.

Ecthelion was pacing the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He was getting angrier by the second, but his voice remained his usual calm tone, although perhaps with a peppering of spite thrown in for good measure. "Why must you always do this, Denethor? Always you make something I do more than it is!"

"More than it is, you say? How else do you expect me to react when you are forever favouring a captain over your own son! Should not the Steward's heir also wish to win the trust of his men? Why should Thorongil only have that right?" Ecthelion let out a short, sharp laugh. He stopped pacing and turned, facing his son.

"Don't tell me you're suddenly interested in the welfare of Gondor's armies?"

"How am I to be an effective successor to the Stewardship if I do not know the men? Surely you are not going to chide me for that?"

"All I mean is that there may be those who take a more obvious interest…"

"You mean Thorongil is a better soldier than I am."

"No…that is not…"

"Do not think me foolish, father!"

"Foolish? Well then, if that is how you wish it, yes, I do think that Thorongil is a better soldier than you are. But that does not mean you are a bad soldier, so don't you take it so personally, Denethor! It matters not if I think…"

"It matters, father! How can the men follow their future leader when his own father does not think he is worthy of the position? Why must it be that Thorongil is allowed to so readily earn their support?" Denethor swallowed hard. He had not meant to reveal so much of how he felt, and he was already regretting his words.

"You should not be so envious of him, my son." Denethor looked up at his father. His father was a proud, tall man, even in his growing years.

"Then I am sorry father, if I may find that difficult when you are forever singing his praises." His voice was belayed his hurt, however much he tried to hide it. "There is naught else I can do." He turned and left the room, and only faintly heard his father calling his name.

Finduilas jumped as the door to the room swung open unexpectedly. Denethor came out alone, letting the door swing closed again. It seemed that he saw his wife without having to even turn his head. "What are you doing?"

"I…I was just passing."

"You were eavesdropping."

"Well, yes, but I was worried, Denethor." Denethor did not look at his wife, but rather looked away. He rubbed his brow. Finduilas walked to her husband and place and arm around his slumped shoulder. "Come. Things are difficult for you both at the moment."

"They are not for Thorongil," he said, straightening himself somewhat.

"It matters not how things are for the Captain. He does not merit so much of your thoughts." They walked a while in silence towards their private chamber.

Denethor watched Finduilas as she made a snack for him. She had insisted he eat something, as he had missed out on the meal. She handed him a plate, which he took and put straight on the table next to him. He sighed a sigh quite different from most that day. He didn't sigh from frustration or tiredness, but from contentment. He may be angry at everything else at the moment, but at least he came back to this. He looked at her and she sat. "What?" she said with what she hoped was a well founded grin on her face.

"You keep me sane, you know." She shook her head slightly, but still smiled.

"Oh, you don't need me to keep you sane my Lord. I'm quite sure that you could do that on your own." Denethor smiled at his wife. She was right about most things, but for once he thought that she may be mistaken.

Finduilas looked at her husband as he slept. The child inside her kicked, but it was not that which worried her.

Denethor had been sat at his desk barely an hour and he was already bored. He was not a man adverse to work, but his heart was not into it today. He held a piece of paper in his hand, but the figures and words seemed only to blend together into an incomprehensible blur. He put down the paper and closed his eyes a while, leaning back in his chair. If his father saw him now! Practically asleep on the job! Thoughts ran through his mind as his eyes remained closed.

A knock came at the door. Denethor sat straight in the chair and a paper came fast to his hand. Shame be should anyone see him idle in his work. "Enter!" he called. The door opened tentatively and Captain Thorongil carefully stepped into the room. Denethor looked at him.

"My Lord Denethor." Thorongil bowed his head. Denethor wanted to laugh. Here come the contrivances.

"Captain Thorongil," he began, with a wry smile. "What can I do for you today?"

"I was hoping that you could tell me where the 3rd Archery Regiment is today? My men need to brush up on their archery and I thought they could learn from watching a special regiment. The men said you'd know where they are." Denethor resisted rolling his eyes at the well chosen words of a diplomat.

"They should be on their way down to the Pelennor at the moment, for training."

"I see. Thank you, my lord." Thorongil bowed again and left the room. Denethor's eyes rested on the door a while. He wanted to be angry. Thorongil was, of course, now the better man, having made the first foray into unspoken apology. Denethor tutted his own stubborness and got back to work.

A servant brought another plate of bread to the table. There were four eating at the table tonight. Thorongil took a piece from the plate. There was not much talk at the table tonight, in light of things previously said in recent days. Finduilas kept throwing glances at her husband, to which he smiled, in an attempt to placate her concern. Thorongil and Ecthelion were less talkative that night, out of courtesy no doubt. Denethor was thankful for the lack of conversation, for he was quite busied with his thoughts anyway. He looked at Thorongil and then at his father, who were so at ease, despite the silence. He was quite envious of that. His mind was too plagued by his own doubts and fears to be even slightly at ease. He hoped it wasn't noticable. He knew his wife could tell, but she was his wife. He didn't want his father and apparent rival thinking him overly sensitive. He continued looking at Thorongil, so happy to be sat with the ruling family and eat with them. Sharing a meal. Why was he so comfortable? Why did it not faze him to be sat with the closest thing to royalty in Gondor? His thoughts turned to himself. He would never be comfortable, and it was his own family, his own duty. He thought that he would be quite fazed in the prescence of the King, if he were ever likely to return. His mind sighed. He couldn't be more comfortable. He tried, but he couldn't. It was best left to Thorongil to be at ease with his father. Thorongil looked up from his meal and his eyes made contact with Denethor's. The elder, always one to keep control, smiled, but he smiled a lie.


End file.
